


The Only Moment We Were Alone

by Buildyourwalls



Category: Bandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-20
Updated: 2009-05-20
Packaged: 2020-09-01 06:47:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20253898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buildyourwalls/pseuds/Buildyourwalls
Summary: Shane tilts his head down and whispers, "Brendon?" Brendon smiles, and Shane can see it against the rising sun, and he shakes his head, flecks of water hitting Shane's face and arms. Brendon nods to the house and asks, "Hey you got a towel I could borrow?"





	The Only Moment We Were Alone

**Author's Note:**

> For samedifference_, who's birthday is in a couple of weeks and I wanted to give her something nice for continuing to make me smile and laughing at my ridiculous jokes. ♥ Thanks goes to carnilia for the amazing beta and to adellyna and choclitbunny for the hand-holding.
> 
> _originally posted in 2009_

Shane's house looks ten years older from the erosion of salt-water and sand. There are flecks of paint missing, from harsh thunderstorms, and he's constantly changing the gutters because they rust faster than any gutter he's seen in his life. In terms of capital investments, buying a small beach house on the coast of Florida wasn't Shane's best idea, but he's never regretted making the decision.

He's always up before the sun rises, a habit that he formed when he moved here because if he was going to pay an enormous amount of money for a couple thousand square feet, then he is going to take advantage of the scenery. If the waves are just right, sometimes he goes surfing-- glides along the surface, waits for the heat of the sun on his back, and watches the way the sand sparkles, like tiny stars along the shore.

There aren't a lot of people who actually come to this beach, especially when spring break means going to other, more popular places, like Miami or Daytona or wherever else. Shane enjoys the sparse beaches and the solitude. Once in a while, he'll see a neighbor outside smoking a cigarette, and they'll wave and smile politely, but all in all he's pretty much alone.

-

On Tuesday, he wakes up and walks out onto the deck with coffee in one hand and a cigarette in the other, and settles into the hard plastic chair. He notices movement in the water, catches the outline of someone slicing through waves with careful precision, someone that doesn't look like the neighbor's kid, who comes up once in a while because his technique isn't nearly as solid. The stranger slides to the surface and Shane squints to focus through the small bits of daylight.

All he can see is a silhouette of something, someone, and the closer they get, the more he realizes that they're walking straight to his house. Shane sets down the coffee and walks down the steep steps. The sand is still damp from the high tide, and it feels sticky on the pads of his feet. The stranger stops in front of him and Shane squints before widening his eyes, a small gasp escaping between his lips.

Shane tilts his head down and whispers, "Brendon?"

Brendon shifts the surfboard under his arm and smiles. Shane can see it against the rising sun, and Brendon shakes his head, flecks of water hitting Shane's face and arms. Brendon nods to the house and asks, "Hey you got a towel I could borrow?"

-

Shane doesn't ask what he's doing, or how he got here, and Brendon doesn't volunteer any information either. He does, however, make grabby hands when Shane goes to refill his mug, and Shane hands it over with a sigh. Brendon's changed out of the wetsuit and showered, tiny droplets of water forming a ring around his t-shirt. He leans against the counter, and under the scent of ocean water and breeze, the scent of Shane's shampoo wafts in the air.

Shane turns around, reaches for another mug, and says, "I thought you guys were on tour."

Brendon smiles around the rim of the mug and shakes his head. "Nope," he says before slurping loudly.

Shane nods and says, "Okay."

Brendon looks around the kitchen and furrows his eyebrows. "Hey," he says, setting the mug down and walking around the edge of the kitchen, placing a hand on the wall and tilting forward. Small granules of sand fall onto the linoleum when Brendon picks his foot up as he leans around the edge. He turns around and points a thumb over his shoulder. "Where's --" He swirls his finger in a whirl downward motion.

Shane furrows his eyebrows for a minute and then realizes that Brendon is talking about the dogs. "Oh, well--" Shane cups the back of his neck and chuckles wryly. "Um, she got them. In the divorce."

"Oh shit," Brendon whispers. "I didn't -- I mean, I didn't know that --"

"It's fine," Shane says with a shrug. He looks out of the kitchen window and onto the beach below, studies the white clouds against the pale blue sky. "I didn't really talk about it a lot."

He feels arms wrap around his waist and Brendon's breath is hot on Shane's neck. This is familiar, too, the less than slender curves, the way that Brendon is taller, and how he's always, always warm to the touch. "I'm sorry," he murmurs, lips brushing against Shane's ear.

Shane closes his eyes, attempts to ignore the ache in his chest, the itch in his fingers, and fails. He feels particularly stupid right now, very pre-teen or something equally embarrassing, but when he leans forward and loops his arms around Brendon and hugs back, it doesn't matter.

-

Brendon's nocturnal from being on tour for the last few months, which means going to bed when the sun rises instead of waking to see it, so Shane ends up passing out on the couch during The Daily Show. Brendon's thigh is pressed against his, a slow ripple of movement from a tapping foot or bobbing leg. When he hears the rumble of a low chuckle underneath the dreamy haze of sleep, his lips tug into a grin.

He wakes up with an afghan over his chest, and a drool stain on the pillow. The television is still on, but the soft scales of the piano echo from the other room. He reaches over and turns the TV off, walks into his bedroom, lays down, and closes his eyes, falling asleep to a deep classical piece he memorized during Brendon's late nights years before.

-

The loud Urie Snore - officially trademarked by Spencer during one tour when Brendon legitimately woke up the entire bus - jolts Shane awake, and when he looks at the clock it's near the time he usually gets up. The windows are open, and there's the calming crash of the waves, the early signs of seagulls hawking, and the sky is covered in an red-orange tint. It expands over Brendon's bare shoulders, and Shane grins, reaches up to start brushing back small bits of hair - much longer now that he's been on tour for nearly a year - until he realizes what he's doing, and stops.

Brendon snorts up a snore, shifts, and turns, wrapping one arm around Shane and scooting close before burying his face into a pillow. Shane closes his eyes for a second, gets used to the warmth, and falls asleep quickly.

He wakes up again when the brightness of the day makes the room warm and sticky with Spring humidity. The sheets and blankets are nothing but a tangle at the foot of the bed, and Brendon is sprawled out, jaw slack and hair tousled.

It's almost noon, and Shane feels sluggish from over-sleeping, so he makes a fresh batch of coffee, and walks outside to enjoy the hot breeze against his face and watch the way the sun glistens against the water. He thinks about the last time he'd had visitors here, when Ian dropped by mid-tour and joked that Shane was having his mid-life crisis at 35, and shouldn't he be buying a Porsche or a French villa instead of a lonely beach house in Florida?

That was nearly three months ago. The last person to visit him before that was Brendon, bouncing around for a couple of weeks on in between-tour anxiety. They didn't ask if he wanted to come along with a failing marriage underway and Shane was kind of running on empty anyway, too old to party hard like he had years before when the guys were nothing but twenty-somethings and full of energy, soaking in the sweetness of living "the life".

Shane hears the sliding glass door and smiles into his coffee when Brendon curses and announces, "I think I broke your door."

"No," Shane says, and cranes his head to see it opened only half way. "It sticks if you don't put the right amount of pressure on it when you open it."

Brendon studies the door for a minute, scratching the back of his head, and shrugs. "God, I'm getting too old for this," he says before carefully walking over to the deck and grabbing at Shane's coffee.

"I made enough for you to have your own cup, you know."

Brendon hums as he takes another sip and wipes the remains off with the back of his hand. "But you always do that amazing mix of cream and sugar that I have never been able to master. Not even baristas in Italy can make what you make, Shane."

Shane laughs and shakes his head. "Or, you're just too lazy."

Brendon grins and tugs at the tuft of hair sticking in a million directions. Brendon always gets the worst case of bed hair, and he usually tries to be as naked as possible. He's still in the jeans he was wearing last night, the hem loose around his hips from sleeping in them. He's still shirtless, and there's a roundness beginning to show on his belly where it used to be flat and smooth.

"Or I'm just lazy," he agrees, and sets the mug down on the railing, and clasps his hands carefully. "The band's going on hiatus," he murmurs.

Shane doesn't even attempt to hide the shock. "Really?"

"Yeah, I mean. We're almost going on thirty and we're on, like, album number five or some shit. Spence just got married; and Ryan wants to go to, like, Tibet or some other place, and find his inner chi or whatever the fuck he wants to do; and you know Cassie just had the baby, and -" Brendon waves his hand in a circle and sighs. "So, we're going on a break."

The wind picks up, a long swoosh of air blowing over their faces, and Brendon closes his eyes and hums softly. Shane inches closer and leans to Brendon's ear and says, "You're gonna go insane."

Brendon's smile is sad when he opens his eyes and nods, focusing on peeling at a bit of chipped paint. "Pretty much."

Shane reaches up and brushes his fingers through Brendon's hair, traces a fingertip over his ear. "You can stay here," Shane whispers, and Brendon smiles, bright and beautiful - just like before, and always- and Shane remembers all over again why he could never let him fully go. There's something inside of him that screams Don't leave, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, but it's all in the past, and nothing can be changed about that.

"Yeah?" Brendon asks, and he sounds uncertain like he needs the confirmation that he didn't just hear a false promise over the waves whistling and crashing against the shore.

Shane nods, curls his hand around the back of Brendon's neck. Brendon pulls him in, brushes his lips against the corner of Shane's mouth, and Shane turns until their lips meet. The kiss is wet and soft, and Brendon's mouth tastes like coffee with a hint of mint, but the pressure is familiar, and the way he cups the side of Shane's face brings Shane back to many nights in the past, moments tangled up in each other's limbs and sweat. It reminds him of something that he once had, something he once knew. When they break apart, Brendon's eyes remain closed, and he smiles before fluttering them open.

"Okay," he says, leans up and kisses Shane one last time. "I'll stay this time."


End file.
